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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575969">A Witcher's Horse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyxcoffee/pseuds/sleepyxcoffee'>sleepyxcoffee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Animal Death, Gen, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Horses, Kaer Morhen, semi-immortal horses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:22:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyxcoffee/pseuds/sleepyxcoffee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something strange about witchers, and so it only made sense that there was something strange about their horses as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #010</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Witcher's Horse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warnings for death, injury, animal death, animal injury, and a mention of child abuse.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was something strange about witchers, and so it only made sense that there was something strange about their horses as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whether it was the magic they were exposed to or something in Kaer Morhen’s water, witchers’ horses lived far longer than the average </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span>, much less the average horse. Pike had long outlived his witcher, and was happily spending the tail end of his life as a stud galloping through the keep’s pastures. Old Moth’s witcher was still alive, but she was on her </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> - something practically unheard of for a witcher’s horse - her first having died at the unfortunately young age of sixty. Her new witcher, though, the one called Vesemir, was an instructor and therefore off the Path a lot, so he was perfectly happy to give up Old Moth as a broodmare for a bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially considering the sire to Old Moth’s foal had proven his longevity, and all the instructors wanted to see just </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> long a witcher’s horse could live. They had hoped that if they bred together two horses with the longest lived ancestors, they’d finally end up with a horse that reached the two century mark. Old Moth’s father, Big Beetle, had been the oldest horse Kaer Morhen had ever seen, finally keeling over peacefully in a field at the ripe old age of a hundred and eighty nine after spending a lifetime carrying around a witcher and his monster parts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Old Moth’s foal was eagerly awaited by witchers and mages alike. The morning after Old Moth she finally foaled, as spring turned to summer, her pen was surrounded by several very excited witchers and several instructors shooing away nosy trainees. The only witcher Old Moth had allowed anywhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>near</span>
  </em>
  <span> her paddock while she was foaling, though, had of course been Vesemir.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s tiny!” one small auburn-haired boy exclaimed (rather hypocritically - he wasn’t much bigger than a shrimp himself). “Like a roach!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hush now, Geralt,” Old Moth’s Vesemir said. “Leave her be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I come see it tomorrow?” little Geralt asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if you don’t get to breakfast, you won’t!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another little boy, this one dark-haired, tugged on Geralt’s sleeve. “Come on, Geralt, let’s come back later. It’s too crowded to see her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eskel’s right. Now get going, you two! You boys too - stop slacking off!” Vesemir returned to Old Moth’s side, stroking the sweaty mare indulgently. “There now, Old Moth, you’ve done a good job. What a sweet little foal - like a roach, hmm? Do you like that, foal - Roach does suit you, don’t you think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re too soft on that boy, Vesemir,” Rennes scolded from the other side of the pen’s fence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vesemir shrugged. “It suits her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moments after training finished, the two boys popped up again, just as they had promised. They watched Roach suckling from Old Moth, enraptured. Geralt stared at her with wide green eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s so small,” he breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is a foal,” Eskel said. “I bet we were that tiny when we were born too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we’re bigger now. And we’re gonna keep getting bigger, until we’re as big as the witchers, and Roach is gonna get big too, until she’s as big as Old Moth.” Hesitantly, Geralt reached into the pen. Curious, Roach broke away from her mother and walked towards him, sniffing his hand. Annoyed, Old Moth trotted over and snapped at him, and Geralt yelped, nearly falling backwards in his haste to get away. Roach huffed and stomped away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you boys bothering Old Moth and her foal?” Varin exclaimed, making his way over. “Go now! Leave the poor thing alone and get yourselves washed for supper!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Master Varin,” the two boys said in unison, and promptly scampered off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning, as soon as dawn broke, Geralt and Eskel returned to watch Old Moth and Roach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Horses learn to stand quickly,” Geralt mused as Roach trotted in circles around her mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re much faster than humans,” Eskel said in agreement. “Some of the little ones are a year old and still can’t walk properly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to be a horse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eskel tilted his head curiously. “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt shrugged. “I dunno. They just seem nicer than humans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh.” For a moment, Eskel was silent. “If you were a horse, I’d want to be a horse too. Then we could both be colts, and spend all day galloping around the paddock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt quickly proved to be a constant in Roach’s life. He was there with Vesemir the first time she was haltered, and fed her carrots after the farrier trimmed her hooves. Actually, Geralt fed Roach carrots rather often - he was surprisingly sneaky. Sometimes he came to her just to groom her, or to help school her, or to turn her out, or to turn her in. Sometimes he came bruised and bleeding from training and beatings and buried his tears in her mane. Sometimes he came with Eskel; sometimes he was alone, and on the worst days he came after arguing with Eskel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day after a particularly muddy spring storm, Vesemir tied up Old Moth and Roach side by side, then handed Geralt a brush while he curried Old Moth. Roach nudged Geralt insistently and nosed at him, until, giggling, he gave in and pet her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s taken a liking to you,” Vesemir said. “Maybe she can be your mare one day - she’ll be ready for the Path soon after you’re due to take your Grasses.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think I’ll make it?” Geralt asked quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vesemir gave no answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt did, in fact, make it through his Grasses, and his Dreams, and the second round of mutagens they put him through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he was strong enough to walk, he staggered into Roach’s stall and half sat, half collapsed on her hay. Roach made a concerned sound and stepped away from him. Geralt smelled </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. More dangerous. Colder. He smelled like he was in pain - no, his scent was pure pain. His eyes were witcher eyes now, not little boy eyes, and his skin was deathly pale. Geralt groaned and curled onto his side, burying his face into the hay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was not Roach’s Geralt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach whinnied in alarm and backed against her stall, tossing her head. Old Moth swung her head over her stall door and huffed at Roach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s still your Geralt. He needs you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the wise old mare said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach huffed again and stomped anxiously, nearly knocking over her water bucket. A strange expression passed over Geralt’s face, and his shoulders slumped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Roachie,” Geralt rasped. Even his </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice</span>
  </em>
  <span> was different, and he reeked of something horribly bitter and sour. Geralt staggered to his feet and, swaying wildly, grabbed onto the stall door. He unlatched it and pushed it open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Roach thought. Old Moth was right. This was not her little Geralt, but it was Geralt nonetheless. She hadn’t stopped being Geralt’s Roach when she moved from the mare and foals’ field to an adult paddock, or when she stopped running with colts and started training with the mares. She had always been Geralt’s Roach, and Geralt would always be hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She trotted forwards and nudged Geralt. He made a surprised sound, staggering. Roach cornered him against her hay pile, then gently knocked him over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roach!” Geralt exclaimed, getting off his back into a seated position. “What are you doing, girl?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach nuzzled Geralt and started grooming his clothes. These witchers, they could be strange sometimes. Hesitantly, Geralt lifted a hand and began to pat her neck. From across the aisle, Old Moth made a sound of approval. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Witchers need us</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We take care of them</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt came to see Roach several more times that week. It wasn’t that Geralt hadn’t been spending an inordinate amount of time at the stables already - it was just that with his Grasses, he had a week off to recover. Eskel came to join him, sometimes, grooming other horses as Geralt groomed Roach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want her,” Geralt said as he gently tapped on Roach’s fetlock. She lifted her leg obediently, and Geralt picked out a stone. Roach had a nasty reputation for stomping on most of the people who tried to pick her hooves - Geralt was one of the few exceptions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She suits you,” Eskel said softly. Their ears were newly sensitive, and they weren’t yet used to normal volumes. Old Moth had many a time theorised that that was the reason so many freshly mutated witchers spent time in the stables. The stables were quiet. Eskel flicked the dust off Pike with a dandy brush. Roach nuzzled Geralt approvingly as he stood to brush her mane, and he chuckled. She couldn’t imagine walking the Path with any other witcher. It wasn’t the witcher that chose the horse, Old Moth had explained, but the horse that chose the witcher. She had chosen her first witcher, and when Vesemir’s horse died, she had chosen him as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hummed. He and Eskel stood in companionable silence as they brushed their respective horses. Pike stood placidly, munching on hay. While he was healthy and probably had years more to live, Roach’s father was the oldest horse currently in Kaer Morhen, and nobody wanted to risk taking him onto the Path. No, Pike was destined to live out his days schooling trainees and siring foals. He wasn’t like Old Moth, who jumped at the opportunity to walk the Path with Vesemir every time he got the chance. Old Moth wasn’t cut out to spend her life as a broodmare - Roach would likely be the only foal she ever had. She would much rather spend her days in Kaer Morhen schooling and pulling carts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the seasons passed, Geralt grew quieter and Roach grew stronger. By the spring after Geralt’s Grasses, Roach was ready to walk the Path, and so was Geralt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eskel tacked up his own gelding silently next to Geralt and Roach. Roach knew his gelding - Berry, he was called. Like Eskel, calm and sensible. Nowhere near as spirited as Roach, but a good, strong horse. She knew he’d take good care of Geralt’s dearest friend. Geralt checked the balance of his saddlebags about five times more than he had to before he finally relented and strapped them to Roach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can make our way down the Killer together,” Eskel said softly. “Then -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t finish that thought,” Geralt said shortly. His once-auburn hair was growing in white at the roots, and the longer bits around his face were pulled into a ponytail. Pure white, not the same grey as the older witchers. His hair had matched Roach’s coat, once - auburn and chestnut. A striking pair. Now, his roots were as white as the stripe on her face and the socks on her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach took her bit willingly, and followed Geralt out of the barn. She had said her goodbyes to Old Moth and all her friends. She was more than ready to walk the Path. Perhaps she would become a hero, like Swampy, who had pulled his witcher out of a bog and dragged him five miles to the nearest town, or like Heron who had kicked a wyvern in the face when it got too close to her fallen witcher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt and Roach rode out of Kaer Morhen with their hopes high and their spirits higher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Roach and Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen three years later, Roach still wasn’t a hero, and neither was Geralt. If anything, Geralt was even quieter and sadder than he had been before they left, and Roach knew of no way to cheer him up. She listened when he talked, groomed him when he was sad, and even offered him one of her carrots once (Geralt had reacted to having a mushy carrot put in his mouth with disgust).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as Geralt turned her out into a paddock with a handful of other horses, including Old Moth and Berry, she cantered through the fields in search of her mother. Old Moth greeted her with a pleased nicker, blowing on Roach’s face, and Roach blew back. Roach nuzzled at her mother’s shoulders, taking in her familiar scent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps Old Moth would know what to do about Geralt. Everyone knew Old Moth was wise; she had the answer to everything. As Roach groomed her, she pleaded for advice with her head down and shoulders low.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Old Moth’s only advice was that witchers were sometimes like that. Remain steadfastly by his side, and all would be well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Geralt came into the paddock the next day, Roach almost didn’t recognise him. Over the last few years, his hair had grown out until it dangled past his shoulders, the ends auburn and the rest white. Now, the distinctive auburn was gone, and his hair was pure white, cropped just over his shoulders and partially tied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gone was the Geralt of her fillyhood, Roach supposed, but he was still her Geralt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did please her was that his scent was distinctly more content, and his body language relaxed. Her taciturn witcher was even chattering with Eskel as they entered the paddock. Roach and Berry neighed, trotting towards them. Maybe Geralt had just been feeling barn-sour, Roach thought. He certainly seemed happier in Kaer Morhen. She could certainly relate - she had missed Berry, and Old Moth, and all the fillies and colts she had grown up with, and even Pike, even though she wasn’t usually turned out with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two witchers haltered their horses and made their way to the barn, Roach and Berry following contently as they swapped stories of their Path. Berry kept trying to stop to eat blowball, much to Geralt’s amusement and Eskel’s annoyance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Berry,” Eskel grumbled. “You can have hay while I groom you. You’re a mess.” Eskel and Geralt had arrived within minutes of each other late at night, once it was far too dark and cold for a thorough grooming to be at all sensible, so they had settled for rugging Roach and Berry then turning them out instead. It had probably been a wise decision, because both horses had immediately decided to roll in the mud, as all young horses do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach happily munched on her hay as Geralt went through her muddied fur with a curry comb. Kaer Morhen was a time to rest. She hadn’t thought she would miss the keep so much while she was on the Path, but she had found moments during their long treks when all she wanted to do was run around in the fields with the other horses while Old Moth watched them and snorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The weather should be good enough to keep the horses in the paddock for a while longer,” Geralt said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re back early,” Eskel agreed. The two young witchers brushed their horses in companionable silence. “You promised to tell me about that archgriffin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach shuddered and huffed. The archgriffin in Velen. That had been horrible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was knocked onto my back and poisoned,” Geralt said. “Roachie, the brave girl, galloped to me out of nowhere and kicked at the bastard while I dug around my pack for Golden Oriole. I think I’d be dead without her.” Roach preened proudly. Berry nickered, impressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a good girl,” Eskel said. Geralt’s face broke into a broad grin as he scratched her behind the ears. Roach’s eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into his touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is, isn’t she? The bestest girl, Roachie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kaer Morhen was a place to rest and recuperate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One winter, Roach and Geralt returned late. They had gone as far south as Nilfgaard following one bloody katakan, and it had taken them far longer than usual to come back north. By the time they made it up the Killer, Roach was knee-deep in snow, but Geralt had been strangely insistent about returning to Kaer Morhen that year, even though in previous years they had wintered further south instead, when their Path took them far from the keep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a bad feeling, Roach,” Geralt said. “We have to get back. I just know it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kaer Morhen was home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when they saw smoke rising in the distance, Roach burst into a gallop without even being told.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kaer Morhen was a sanctuary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when they arrived, it was in rubble and flames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other horses were dead. Their attackers had caught them when the School least expected it, settling in for the winter and exhausted from the year. Roach’s herd had been in their paddocks or barns when the attackers came, and not even a witcher’s horse could fight fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as they arrived, Geralt leapt off Roach’s back and sprinted into the keep, shouting for Eskel. There were the screams and cries of dying witchers, but no humans. Roach galloped towards the paddocks, heedless of the loose stirrups clanking against her sides or the reins jangling around her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found Berry gone, crushed under the remains of his barn with half a dozen other horses. She found Pike dead, in a pool of his own blood in his own field. She galloped through what remained, whinnying and neighing in alarm, searching for Old Moth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found her mother on her side, with a spear through her heart, breathing laboriously. The ground around her was charred black, and several humans, their skulls crushed, laid around her. Old Moth had fought. Oh, she had fought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something inside Roach crumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laid down next to Old Moth and groomed her as the life left her eyes. When she felt and saw and heard her mother’s spirit fade, Roach sprang to all fours and galloped in frantic circles, heedless of the dead humans and witchers beneath her hooves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she heard Geralt whistle for her, and Roach steadied herself. She was one of the only witchers’ horses left. Everyone at the keep was dead, but Roach knew not all her herd had returned for this winter. She had to be strong. She had to last until she could meet her other herdmates, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt, when she found him, was in tears. It startled Roach almost as badly as seeing the keep in flames. She hadn’t seen Geralt cry since before his Trials. She had never seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> witcher cry - she didn’t think it was possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roach,” Geralt gasped, hauling a dead witcher’s body off a pile of corpses. “Roach - I hear a heartbeat -” He staggered to his feet and grasped Roach’s mane, burying his face in her neck like he was a little boy again. Roach nickered comfortingly and nosed Geralt, leaving behind streaks of Old Moth’s blood on his clothes. Geralt fell back to his knees, leaning on Roach to steady himself, and continued moving corpses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made a triumphant sound, and pulled a body out from the bottom of the pile. He fell to his knees and cradled the barely-breathing figure, weeping. “Vesemir, thank the gods, he’s alive -” Roach trotted closer and lowered herself onto the ground. Geralt leaned over and opened one of her saddlebags, pulling out his potions pouch. He uncorked one, forcing the vial past Vesemir’s pale lips. “Vesemir, please, don’t leave me, not you too -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach heard shouting from the distance and tensed. “Geralt! Geralt!” As the voice drew closer, Roach forced herself to relax. It was only Eskel. He sprinted around the corner and, upon seeing Geralt, ran faster. “Vesemir,” Eskel breathed, falling to his knees. “Vesemir!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gave him Swallow,” Geralt choked out. “But I don’t know if that’s enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eskel grabbed two more potions from Geralt’s bag. “White Raffard’s and Kiss and - that’s it, that’s all we can give him. Geralt, we need to find the others.” Geralt stayed frozen. Eskel grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Geralt! There are - other survivors, I heard the screaming. Get Vesemir into the Great Hall; we can put all the survivors there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt said nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eskel cursed and made the sign of Axii. Roach nickered and stepped away. Axii never meant good things. “Geralt, listen to me. Get Vesemir on Roach, and get him into the Great Hall. Put him down, then come find me.” Glassy-eyed, Geralt obeyed, hefting Vesemir onto Roach. She followed after Geralt uneasily. Roach had never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> the keep - no horse had - but the doors were tall and wide enough that she could walk into the Great Hall so that Geralt could set Vesemir onto the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The overly smooth stone of the keep’s floors felt foreign under Roach’s hooves, echoing far too loudly in the emptiness. She tried to ignore the stench of death and blood and corpses around her and snorted uncomfortably, keeping her head low. Once Vesemir’s prone body was safely on a rug, Geralt stayed kneeling, confused. Roach bent down and nudged Geralt until he grasped onto her reins and pulled himself up. Then Roach walked out of the stone keep, guiding Geralt, and following Eskel’s scent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they found Eskel, he was breaking down a well barricaded shed’s door. Tumbling out of a shed came an angry, growling witcher. Roach recognised him as Lambert, who had passed his Trials but was yet to be chosen by a horse. Perch, one of Pike’s other foals, had taken a liking to him, but Perch was dead now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wondered how he’d walk the Path, without a witcher’s horse. She wasn’t sure there were any stallions left. He’d have to settle for a normal horse, and everybody knew they were nowhere near as hardy as a witcher’s horse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me at them,” Lambert snarled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m gonna kill every last one of those motherfuckers!”" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lambert tried to charge past Eskel, but Eskel caught him and set him back onto the ground. Shouting, he squirmed, and Eskel made the sign for Axii again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down, Lambert,” Eskel hissed. Geralt gasped as Eskel’s hold on him suddenly broke, but Lambert’s face went slack, and his body went limp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vesemir,” Geralt whispered. “Eskel, where is he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Safe, he’s safe - Geralt, get a cart on Roach, we need to move the corpses and look for survivors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Roach spent that winter carting bodies to pyres.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was hours later when Geralt seemed to realise that Roach needed somewhere to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At first, he tried leading her to her usual paddock, but she dug her hooves into the ground and refused to move any closer. Old Moth’s body was there - she wasn’t sleeping next to her mother’s corpse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Roach,” Geralt snarled. “Why won’t you move? Why are you being so stubborn?” He tried to yank on her lead, but she reared back, neighing furiously and stomping her hooves. Geralt frowned and jogged over to the paddock. “Roach, look, it’s fine, just - </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Geralt stopped still. Roach stayed where she was, nickering and neighing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt returned to her side, stroking her neck soothingly. “There, now, calm down. I’m sorry, girl, we’ll find you somewhere else, alright?” He picked up her lead rope again, and reluctantly, Roach followed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They found that seemingly every barn and paddock in Kaer Morhen was either burned or filled with the dead, people and horses alike. One of the smaller paddocks had witcher heads staked on the posts, which caused Roach and Geralt to immediately turn tail. In the end, Geralt had to move some of the dead attackers and a mare with her newborn foal out of the pen Roach herself had been born in. She couldn’t help but find it ironic. It was in that very pen her life had begun, and now it was in the same pen she stood as the world around her fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned her out, and for the first time ever, Roach found herself in Kaer Morhen alone.</span>
</p>
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